


Wygol

by The_Untitled_King



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Crows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:29:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Untitled_King/pseuds/The_Untitled_King
Summary: In dear Wygol, crows flock to their king.





	Wygol

I live in a little village of a hundred and forty-three people.  
We are far from the rest of the world. There’s not much out here, just the farms, and our houses of wood and stone. We live from sunrise to sunset, making the most of the daylight and little of the dusklight. I know the names of everyone, and they know mine. Ours is a simple life, away from the troubles of the big cities with their inventions and their heroes.  
No heroes here, only home and harvest.  
I live with my mum and dad, in a house built by my great-grandad. It’s big and warm and cosy, and I’ve never felt alone in it, even when they stay out in the fields past night. We usually eat meals together, but sometimes everyone comes together and eats in the main hall, in the middle of our village. I’m friends with most of the children here, but my best friend is Morgan, who lives a few houses down from me. We play between the village and the mountains where the sun rises in the afternoons, if we don’t have to help out in the farms with our parents.  
The only thing we have to do is not go near the rocks at the foot of the mountains, mum and dad say they’re dangerous.  
I’m not scared though, there’s nothing scary near our village.  
I’m happy. I’ve never known a day without food, or without smiles, or without love. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

I live in a little village of a hundred and forty-two people.  
This morning, one of the adults found elder Markham out in the field, not breathing. They said he died of a heart attack late at night, after everyone else had already gone home to sleep. He was old, and this sort of thing happens. It happened before with grandad, and with Morgan’s grandma, I’m not scared by people dying.  
What is strange though, is that they wouldn’t let us see the body. The adults have always let us before, as part of the process before they bury them.  
However, they told us that we wouldn’t have to do any work in the farms for the next week, and we could spend all our time playing as long as we didn’t go into the fields. I didn’t mind, we could spend some time on the game we had been creating between the rocks at the foot of the mountains, when the adults weren’t looking.  
It was fun, and there is no one to stop us.  
As we made our way later that morning to our spot however, I looked over to the farmlands that stretched out on the other side of the village, peering around the last house belonging to the Fela family. The adults were mostly crowded around one spot, some moving and working at something, others simply watching. I couldn’t see what it was, and I didn’t think to climb one of the rocks to get a better view at the time, but I made a note to try to see what it was next time I got a chance.  
We had to go back earlier than we had planned for, Morgan hurt himself slipping from one of the bigger rocks. The adults would be mad at us, and we talk about lying to them about how it happened, but we realize that lying would get us into even more trouble, and we will take the punishment the give us.  
In my worrying, I forget to look back to whatever it was the adults were standing around in the field.  
It’s not until later that night that I remember, but it’s dark outside and my parents told me that once the sun was down for the day, so was I. I pulled the sheets over me and sighed, trying to remind myself to go in the morning once the sun was up, before the adults could stop me.  
The last thing I remember before falling asleep, too close to my dreams to know if it was real or not, was a crow tapping its beak against my window.

When I woke the crow was gone, and I spent a few seconds trying to figure out whether it was there or not at all. I rub my eyes and slid my legs out from under the covers, only to jump in surprise as my feet touch the ice-gold ground. I stare down at it, trying to see if there was any frost between the planks or something hiding, but there’s nothing. I place my feet carefully back down on the floor and it feels normal, just the right temperature.  
Maybe I just imagined it, it is summer after all.  
After the tongue lashing we got from our parents me and Morgan agreed not to go back to the foothills. He was still hurting, but he could at least walk, and I told him about what I saw yesterday.  
“Probably just where Mr Markham died.” He said as he pushed the fence gate open, letting us enter the field.  
“But so many adults were there, there’s no reason there had to be that many.”  
Morgan shrugged as we follow the fence towards the river, at the edge of the field. “Who knows?”  
The river runs alongside our village to the South, running from down the mountain and going along the edge of the fields. It gets deeper the further down you go, but where we are it stays shallow enough that we can walk through and play, and on hot days we can swim without worrying about being swept away.  
I strip down to my smallclothes and hop in, while Morgan is forced to keep his bandages dry and stay in the ankle-deep parts. For a short while we keep ourselves busy, until we’re distracted by the sounds of frustrated shouting coming from the fields.  
“Don’t.” Morgan tells me as I move downriver, closer to where the voice came from.  
I ignore him and get out of the water, hiding behind the tall stalks of wheat. I can barely make out a few people over towards the middle of the fields, standing around where the adults were packed yesterday. There are less of them today, and I can see what they’re crowded around this time.  
A scarecrow.  
At least, that’s what it looks like. It’s spindly and tall and completely still, even as the adults try to move it. I suppose that’s what they were shouting about. The fields do have some scarecrows scattered, but this one is definitely new, I don’t remember seeing it before.  
Just before I turn back to Morgan and the river, I notice a crow fly down towards the scarecrow. I don’t see where it could have flown in from, but just as it gets close the adults try to shoo it away, waving their arms and shouting wildly.  
I shrug and let them get on with their day, and move back to join Morgan.  
Well after we part ways and I get home, as I’m sitting down for supper with my parents, we hear a knock on the front door. Dad goes to see who it is, and after a few seconds he returns. He whispers something to mum and grabs his jacket before heading out, closing the door behind him.  
“Mum?”  
“Oh, it’s nothing sweetheart, don’t worry.” She came over and wrapped her arm around my head, holding me to her hip close. She’s warm, and I lean into her.  
All is right with the world.

The next day I go out to see Morgan, but he isn’t where we usually meet. I wander around the village for a while looking to see if he’s somewhere else, before heading to his house. As I approach his door I hear voices inside, and I press my ear to the wall to hear them.  
“…seen anything like it.”  
Our village doctor, Elder Yora.  
“Isnt there anything you can do?”  
That was Morgan’s voice!  
“The nearest city’s a day’s ride away, but it would be our best option to find a more skilled doctor or healer that could help.”  
“Is that an option?”  
There was a short silence from the Elder, I strained my ears in case I was missing anything. Something was said in hushed whispers, I could barely hear it.  
“…rry, Morgan… ing I can do…anyone to stay with?”  
Then words too quiet to make out at all. Something felt heavy in my chest, my friend was hurting, and I hurt with him. Soon after however I heard footsteps approaching the front door and ran back, far enough to make it look like I wasn’t listening in.  
Yora stepped out and saw me immediately, the door still open behind her. The inside of Morgan’s house looked dark, darker than I’d ever seen it before, even in the full daylight. It was like the inside of a barobeast’s mouth, from dad’s stories, cavernous and black.  
“Levis…” She said quietly, reaching and closing the door behind her. “I’m afraid Morgan’s busy taking care of his parents today. He won’t be coming out.”  
I opened my mouth to say something, but her expression held my voice back. There was pain, and shock, I had never seen her like this.  
“Run along, I’m sure you have other friends to play with.” She gave a half-smile and walked away.  
In the end I followed her advice, hoping that Morgan’s family was alright and resolving myself to see him tomorrow instead. I walked around until I found some of the other children, spotting Jamie and Bruke perched up on the fence between the fields and the village. Both of them were staring out into the harvest, silent.  
“Hey guys.” No response. “What are you looking at?” I asked, climbing up onto the fence with them.  
Bruke said nothing and simply raised his arm, pointing out into the field. I followed the line his finger drew and laid my eyes upon the new scarecrow – the same I had first seen yesterday – and shrugged. The distant stick figure was still as motionless and unremarkable as it had been, the only new difference being the circle of crows flying above it and the few sitting on its shoulders.  
“So what, it’s just the new scarecrow.” I pause and chuckle. “It’s not very good at its job though, with all those crows.”  
Neither of them replied immediately to me, staying quiet as a gentle breeze blew past us and kicked up the leaves at the foot of the fence. Then, in hushed whispers, Jamie spoke.  
“…It’s the Crow King.”  
My face scrunched up. “The what?”  
“The Crow King.” Jamie repeated, earning a push on the shoulder from Bruke.  
“Don’t say its name! The crows will hear you.”  
I ignored Bruke’s words and poke Jamie for more information. “What’s the Crow King?”  
Bruke hisses at us again, but Jamie does reply. “That’s what killed Elder Markham, out there in the field.” She pointed her finger. “Look, it’s even standing where he died.”  
Her words sparked a bit of worry in me, and I tried to focus my eyes down the distance to try to see better. As far as I could tell though, it was just a normal scarecrow, and the idea of one killing a man was less likely than a couple of other kids trying to spook me.  
“Sure guys.” I say. “Real funny.”  
Even though we weren’t supposed to enter the field, I started to climb down off the fence and moved to crawl under it. I wanted to show them I wasn’t afraid of their silly stories, I’m going to walk over to that scarecrow and shoo the crows away. Just as I get down on my belly and reach over however, I feel my legs gripped tightly by two pairs of hands.  
I’m pulled back and turned over, both Jamie and Bruke looking at me, desperately telling me not to go out there.  
“Alright, alright, I won’t go.” I pick myself up from the ground and brush myself off. They’re acting strange, it’s kind of creeping me out. “I’ll…see you guys later.” I say, walking away and heading back inside the village, trying to push the strange feeling out of my mind.  
As I got home later in the day, I was surprised to see Morgan sitting at our dining table with my parents. They saw me enter, mum and dad got up and quickly escorted me to the other room, sitting me down.  
“Sweetheart, listen.” Mum began, looking into my eyes. “Morgan’s parents are…not well, and they don’t want him to get sick too, so he’s going to stay with us for a few days while they get better.”  
I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, biting my tongue to stop myself. The conversation I had overheard about Morgan’s parents, that I probably wasn’t supposed to hear, suggested something grim for them, but I couldn’t let anyone know I had heard. I looked between my parents and nodded.  
“Where will he sleep?” I ask, wanting to break the silence.  
“With you, your bed’s big enough.” Dad said, a smile peeking past his beard.  
I nodded again, and we returned to the table.  
All the way up to bedtime, through the sunset and supper, Morgan was silent. He barely looked at any of us, just staring forward with wide eyes. It was a little unnerving if I’m honest, and I tried to shake him a couple of times to get him to say something, but no response came out.  
When we lay down and curled up under the covers, he came close and wrapped his arms around me, burying his head in my chest. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but I didn’t question it. He was warm, and it was nice to be close to my best friend like this, even if the reasons why aren’t ideal.  
We fall asleep together, with soft snores and a dreamless rest.

I wake up, head hurting and eyes sore. I open my eyes and see the shadowed outline of my room, but nothing beyond that. It’s still dark, it’s still night.  
Why am I awake?  
I prop myself up on my elbows and squint into the darkness, trying to see if there was something that woke me. With the low light however, it’s difficult to truly tell, and the only thing I can hear is Morgan gently breathing next to me.  
Then I hear the tapping.  
My head turns over to the window, staring out into the pitch-black of night, and I see the inky nothingness extend forever. Painted against it however are a collection of bright green eyes, illuminating avian silhouettes.  
Crows madly tapping their beaks against the glass.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
I feel my chest tighten and my heartrate quicken, and I try to close my eyes and calm myself down. Deep breaths, in and out, there’s nothing to worry about, nothing to be scared of. Just as I am about to lower my arms and place my head back against the pillow, I hear something creak from the corner nearest to the window. My face contorts into a frown as I peer into the darkness, and I still can’t see anything.  
No, I realize. There is a shadow blacker than the darkness itself, a shadow in that corner, and it’s staring at me with eyes that I cannot see.  
The air freezes in my throat, I’m paralyzed, stiff, no chance to move. All I can do is pull the blanket tighter over us like it’s a shield. It can protect us. It will protect us.  
Some curious nook of my mind, without even suggesting it to the rest of my higher functions, speaks out in an attempt to know what the shadow in the corner is.  
“H-hello?” I ask.  
The split second after is taken by the most awful, empty sound I have ever heard. Like the sound of watching a vortex form in the water of a draining sink, mixed with the echo of a poor creature that fell to the bottom of a well, beyond help. The shadow breathed in, and replied to me.  
“Hello?” It asked, as if it were equally curious. It was a raspy, scratchy sound, speaking like it was forcing words through a strangled throat. The word on its own made me feel like there were locusts burrowing into my skin, and I almost threw up on the spot.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
I’m shaking, too much to do anything else, and the movements disturb Morgan as he sleeps. With bleary eyes and sluggish movements he rises up to my position, quietly asking why I’m awake. I can’t even muster up the ability to tell him before looks into the corner and is struck with the same affliction paralysation as me.  
The memory of Jamie and Bruke’s words wander into my mind, before the shadow in the corner speaks again.  
“Hello? Who are you?”  
I dare not reply. I dare not move. I can barely breathe. The shadow begins to slowly move, creaking as it does so, and I see a long, thin limb move out of the darkness, clawed splinters pressing against the floor as it begins to crawl itself towards me.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
The shadow breathes, and its arm keeps extending, far further than any human or animal I’ve seen. Morgan lets out a choked sob of terror next to me, his fingers digging painfully into my body as he clutches me.  
I scream for my parents, louder than I had ever screamed before, scratching my throat as I called.  
The shadow stops moving, even drawing its arm back. It doesn’t retreat, it just keeps staring at me with those invisible eyes.  
“I’m right here, sweetheart.”  
My mind goes white with shock. The voice is of the monster in my bedroom, but the words and cadence are my mothers, exactly, done to the tone and accent. I burst into tears alongside Morgan, crying into the shadows wrapping around my room, coming closer with every second.  
There is a vile sound. The sound of something doubled over and retching, sick, wet, trying to turn out its own insides, and the creature regurgitates something the size of a pumpkin. It hits the floor with a wet thud and rolls against it, settling between us and the monster. I cannot see what it is for the tears in my eyes and the blackness around us, I can only know the vicious smell of dead flesh, like the cattle we bred to slaughter.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
Finally, dad bursts in with a lit lantern in hand, half-filling the room with a splash of light. The dark is cast back, and now we can see everything.  
In the corner of the room is something nearly indescribable, a living shadow with no shape, writhing like some distant sea fiend from one of dad’s stories. It rolls beneath its own form, constantly changing the location of the hungry-looking eyes beneath. Above that, it wears the skin of a flayed scarecrow like a cloak, with long, crossed limbs scrunching itself into the corner, and a raised collar of straw. Chains and ropes and uneven stitching bind it, and it hisses towards the light cast by the lantern.  
It moves, fast and skittering like a spider against the wall as it makes its way to the window. The thing folds itself into a shadow and slips through the crack between the glass and the wood, assimilating the tapping crows and disappearing into the night.  
I’m still crying, still barely able to catch my breath or my own heart beating in my throat. Pure terror fills me, an unmitigated sensation that the world is not safe, that there are things that can and will creep into the places I thought were sacred.  
It’s in the half-second before my dad gets to us that I look over to the gift left by the creature, an action I immediately regret.  
As I see the soggy, eyes-gouged-out head of mum, laying with her cheek against the floor and her lips stitched together.

It feels like days pass before Morgan and I finally calm down. He’s still silent, refuses to speak. He barely drinks and doesn’t eat. I’m scared for him, I’m scared for myself, as we sit in the main room of the house, windows barred and candles lit all around us. Dad went out into the night not long after…after it happened, and he still hasn’t returned.  
Sunlight peeks in through the planks barring the windows, it’s dawn.  
My fears prevail.  
It’s another while before dad returns, axe in hand and lantern at his hip. In quiet, hurried whispers he beckons us out of the room and towards the front door. Morgan follows, I don’t. Dad barks at me that we need to go, that it isn’t safe here. I believe him.  
We’re quickly rushed towards the village centre and ushered into the main hall, a tall, long building with a bell tower. I can hear voices from inside, grown ups shouting over each other and crying children. It’s cramped, everyone in the village is here, almost like it’s one of our special feasts.  
No, not everyone is here. Not Elder Markham, or Morgan’s parents, or mum. Nor, I notice at a glance, are several of the children and a few of the adults. Our numbers have been thinned, like sheep. Morgan and I are shuffled towards the back of the building where the stone bell tower stands, with the other kids. They’re in the same way as us, some with scars, one with a bandaged hand. I see Jamie sitting against the wall with her knees up to her chest, staring at the floor.  
I don’t see Bruke.  
We go over to join her, pushing our backs to the wall and sitting down at her side. Neither Morgan nor I say anything, but we can hear Jamie mumbling something beneath her breath, over and over.  
“…The Crow King…”  
The name alone sends shivers down my spine and I shuffle away, trying to get far enough to not hear the words again.  
Time passes, and the adults are still bickering, some raising their weapons and tools every so often to go along with a point. It’s chaos, I know everyone is frightened, everyone is afraid.  
And with nothing to do, I start counting the heads of the ones remaining.

I live in a little village of ninety-nine people.  
Night comes and no shadows fall on us. The entire building is lit up by every light in the village, every flickering candle is hope against the Crow King, every inch of flame and glowing warmth.  
I can’t help but still fear the fingers of dark between the cracks.  
Some of the men went out into the night, hunting the King down. They collected every tool they could find, even those not meant for harm.  
Shears, shovels, pikes, hoes, picks.  
They won’t help.  
Swords and shields, axes from our ancestors, burning torchlight to brighten their path and ward off the nightmare.  
They won’t help.  
The King is coming. We can all hear the storm of his crows battering the walls of the building, the endless tap-tap-tapping of talons and beaks scratching the stone and glass and wood. The wind is howling with his voice, the voice I can’t get out of my mind, the last words of my mother as her head was spat out and rolled against the floor.  
Hello? It calls, and no one has the courage to answer.  
Morgan is lying on the floor, face up at the ceiling. His face betrays nothing, no emotion, no thought. Jamie was still mumbling the King’s name, over and over. Every so often something up above in the rafters would creak, and we could hear the cawing of the crows that much louder, and it would echo throughout the building like thunder, and she would scream.  
There’s nothing I can do.  
The King is coming.

I live in a little village of seventy-two people.  
The men came back in the morning, what was left of the group that went out. Those who could walk were scarred, those who couldn’t were at death's door as they were carried in by their neighbours. I stood up to watch them enter, and immediately wished I hadn’t. There was more red than anything else, dismembered bodies and lacking limbs. A lot of them were bleeding from their eyes. Mister Gasmod, a great giant of a man who I had seen many times stay out in the fields from before dawn till after dusk, was missing most of his face.  
One of them howled and tried to rush back outside, only stopped as he was grabbed by the others. He cried out for his King, screaming of his glory and to be blessed by the crows more. They eventually tied him up and gagged him.  
A small, fragile glimmer of joy filled my chest as I saw dad amongst the survivors, just as covered in scars and with his hand in a bundle of bloody cloth, but alive.  
Elder Mil, who was looking after us children along with Elder Yora and a few of the other adults, pulled me back down, looking at me sternly.  
There was shouting between the adults, amidst the screaming. Arguing about what to do. Some said to stay, said that the hall was safe and the light was working. Some said that they had to leave, to run, that their only chance was to leave everything behind and at least escape with their lives. I didn’t know what to think, I could barely hear anything.  
At least the crows were gone for now.  
The arguing went on for hours, well into the afternoon. No one seemed to win, it just looked like everyone was too tired. A few of the men who had walked in alive were now dead, bleeding out onto the floor and staining the stone. No one dared to go outside and give them proper burials, and before long they would stink like a rotten calf.  
However, now that the shouting had stopped, we were only then able to notice how quiet it was. No more crows.  
“The King struck at night, we should leave when it’s light, during the day!” Someone said. There was a faint hum of discontent for the idea, but it was muffled by the greater echo of agreement. “We can’t fight whatever this is, we have to run.”  
More nodding. Confidence was building, hope against the odds.  
The adults continued to discuss, quietening their voices while Mil and Yora tried to soothe us kids. I strained my ears to listen, but couldn’t make anything out. After a while they split apart, and there seemed to be a consensus reached. Elder Yora spoke to one of them quickly, and then she came over and brought the children together.  
Those who were still responsive, at least.  
She told us that we were going to run for it the next day, in the late morning when the sun was high and the light was everywhere. The mountains would be too hard to climb, so we would run alongside the river until we found another town or city. It was too late to go today without it falling dark, and we would have to stay another night. Some of the children screamed when they heard that, Jamie being one of them, but there was nothing that could be done about it and eventually they wore themselves out with their own terror.  
Night came once more. The King came with it.

I live in a little village of twenty-eight people.  
I was awoken by Elder Yora shaking me awake, hurrying me. My sleep had been restless and fitful, and I felt terrible as I slowly collected my mind and tried to open my eyes.  
I can’t. I can’t open my eyes. I can’t see. I began to panic, sitting up and panting. I bring my hands up to my face and try to feel for my sockets, fingers pressing against my skin. After a few seconds however, I manage to open them, wiping something crusted and sticky away from my lids and being able to open my eyes.  
Blood.  
There was blood everywhere.  
The entire inside of the hall had been painted a dark, sickening vermillion. Fewer inches were still grey stone or brown wood than not, and it was splashed up so high on the walls. The ceiling and rafters had been torn open, exposing the bright morning daylight to us survivors. There were black crowfeathers stuck into the drying, sticky fluid, on the walls, on the floor, on the bodies of those both moving and unmoving.  
It was like some great goliath had torn open the roof and vomited blood into it, and the crows had swarmed in to feast.  
If I had anything in my stomach I would have vomited too, instead I could only retch hollowly and hold my hands over my nose.  
Morgan was still alive, standing with the rest of the children next to Elder Yora. There were a handful of adults still left, about half feverishly shaking and holding tools up to protect themselves, the other half sobbing over lost loved ones. I couldn’t see my dad, and I couldn’t see Jamie with the group, so I turned my head around to find her.  
I wouldn’t have recognized the child’s corpse with its skull caving into its brain, if it wasn’t sitting where she had been last night. Then I threw up, splattering bile onto one of the bloodstained bodies next to me.  
What few of us remained left the dead behind as we walked out, a march with no organisation, no pacing, only desperation and fear. We made it to just past Morgan’s house – a few houses from the edge of the village – when we all heard the lone caw of a single crow. That was enough to stir hysteria, and everyone in the group ran for the lives. Parents abandoned their children, and those children were crushed into the earth by the terrified running of those who trampled them.  
I didn’t see what happened to Morgan.  
I barely avoided being one of those children, sprinting away from the group and hiding against one of the houses. That lone crow cawed again, and was joined by another, then another, and more until all I could hear were their echoing cries drowning out even my own thoughts. I tried to run, tried to escape. I followed the path we planned and ran by the fence, then the river, by the field that the King had first appeared in and beyond. No one else was here, not Morgan, nor Yora.  
Just the crows, still flying above.  
I dare not look back, not for one second. To my right are the fields with the fence between them, and to my left is the river. The river will eventually curve away from the village, if I follow it I should find another town or city, that’s what the Elder said, she has to be right. I just need to keep going, I can’t stop.  
So why, hours later, am I still here?  
The sun is setting in the mountains, where it normally rises, and long shadows are casting themselves over the land. They’ve covered the village, and they’re stretching out to reach me, casting my world in a carrion-wing black. I’m so tired now, my feet are blistered and bleeding, and I can barely stand straight.  
In a moment of weakness, and curiosity, and fear, I look back, praying that nothing is chasing me. My heart sinks as I take in the sight before me, falling into my stomach and drowning in the anxiety pooling there.The houses of the village are now covered in crows, little black fiends with glowing green eyes on their wings. They were all looking at me, I knew they were.  
Why bother running? I’m so exhausted, and I can’t escape.  
I turned to look into the fields, the place where it all began. Through the fence and the tall stalks of wheat, I looked to see the Crow King standing, where Jamie had pointed to, where Elder Markham had died. Instead, I saw a legion of scarecrows, each crowned with a circle of crows.  
Dread grips me, there had to be at least a hundred of them. My throat felt dry. More than a hundred Crow Kings, more than just one of the horrors I saw in the corner of my bedroom that night. I wanted to scream, to cry, to shout out and beg for help. My entire body trembled and I took a step back, then another. I was ready to run, but run where, I ask myself.  
I can’t escape. The Kings are coming.  
I take a step back into the river, and my foot falls through the water. It shouldn’t be this deep, not here, I think briefly before I fall in, my whole body submerged. As I reach up to the surface and try to swim upwards, something grabs my ankle. I look down and scream in terror, bubbles escaping my filling lungs.  
There’s nothing there though, I can only see the darkness of the gloom, and feel it surround me as it pulls me down.

One hundred and forty-three of us, standing.  
We are the crows, we are his eyes.  
Bones poised tall.  
Hail to the King.  
Hail to the ruins of once Wygol.


End file.
